


The Lonely Bear

by spartanroses (babybrotherdean)



Series: God of War Week [1]
Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 12:16:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15729234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/spartanroses
Summary: Kratos tells a story.





	The Lonely Bear

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the first day of [God of War Week](https://godofwarfans.tumblr.com/post/176385124953/welcome-to-gow-week-this-is-a-little-event-to), for the "Kratos" theme. The stories he told were always really interesting to me in how they echoed a lot of stuff from his past, so I wanted to take a crack at writing one. :>

“You must know some more stories. Please, Father?”

The lake is quiet today, its surface glassy and calm but for the wake of one small boat. As Fimbulwinter creeps upon them, the water threatens to freeze solid, but for now, only the shallow spots by the shore harden to crystal in the early mornings. As things stand, they are still able to travel Midgard largely by water, and for that much, Atreus is grateful.

He watches his father closely at the stern of the boat, forever with a stoic look about him as he steers them towards their next destination. Sindri has sent them to fetch another artifact from one of the old mines, and though Father had put on a show about how it wasn’t their problem, he’d started off in the right direction without comment.  _ “We are here for resources to aid us on our travels,” _ he’ll say later, like he always does.  _ “Nothing more.”  _ As if he hasn’t grown a soft spot for the Dwarven brothers, among the small handful of other friends and allies they’ve made since they left home.

“You do not enjoy my stories.” Father keeps his eyes on the path ahead, and Atreus frowns. “Let the head entertain you, boy.”

“I’ve told my fair share of stories, brother.” Mimir speaks up at Atreus’ side. “Not much else a man can do in this state. Listen to the boy. You must have plenty to share, with the life you’ve lived.”

Even now, after everything, Atreus knows that they’re treading on thin ice probing Father about his past. He bites his lip and watches a series of minute changes in Father’s expression; a tightening of the jaw, a twitch in his eyebrow. Tiny, fractional things, nearly imperceptible. Atreus has spent too much time studying his father, though, hoping to learn more and grow closer. He knows it’s the small things that count with this man.

It feels like they’ve been sitting in silence for a small eternity before Father speaks. He doesn’t look at Atreus, and he doesn’t look at Mimir. Instead, his eyes remain firmly fixed on the path ahead as he continues to paddle. “Once, there was a bear,” he starts, and Atreus holds his breath, trying not to look too eager. “A young bear. A cub, left alone without a family, to fend for himself against the dangers of the world.

“The cub was strong, but quick to anger. Without a family, he was outcast from the rest of the creatures in the forest. They, too, left him on his own. He was an outsider, and for that, they shunned him. So the cub started to follow their rules, and sought to prove himself worthy of their acceptance. To impress them, so that he might be brought into their fold. Allowed to find himself a new family.”

Atreus is enraptured. He can see the story unfolding in his head as his father tells it; though the man is blunt and simple with his explanations, something about this- something makes Atreus think it’s important. The look on his father’s face, maybe; something distant and wistful. Something that tells him this story means something.

“So he worked, and worked, and kept working.” Father continues speaking, and a furrow forms in his brow. “He worked until his body threatened to fail him. He worked past the point of exhaustion. He worked himself bloody, because that was what he thought he needed to do in order to gain the respect of the other animals. Of every other creature in the forest. And eventually- after years of this; after he grew from a cub into an adult bear- eventually, he had it. He had earned their respect through his hard work, each and every one of them.”

And for a moment, Atreus thinks that the story will end there. It certainly rings of one of his father’s usual tales; lessons thinly veiled in fantasy. A moral that’s more important than the medium in which it is delivered. Before he can comment though- before he can even open his mouth- Father continues to speak, and it dries the words up on Atreus’ tongue.

“But for all of his work, he had been too absorbed in his mission to know any of the other animals.” Father pauses, and as Atreus watches him, something unreadable passes his expression. Something Atreus has never, ever seen on his father’s face. “To speak to them, or to grow closer to them. While the deer and the rabbits and the birds befriended one another, building strong bonds and relationships that would last them a lifetime- that would carry them through the harshest winters or the most terrible famines- the bear remained alone, isolated by the very thing he had fought so hard to gain. Their respect.

“He was strong. He had proven that much, with his powerful body and his sharp claws. The other animals respected the bear because they feared him- because he had proven himself the strongest of them all, willing to push beyond any barrier to demonstrate it to all who laid before him. The bear had what he had hoped for- the thing he had been fighting for all his life- but left with no one at his side… he realized that there was something he needed even more than the respect he had sought. He would never know the same camaraderie that the other animals had amongst themselves, and for that- for that sacrifice, he would never forgive himself.”

Those final words hit Atreus hard, and he’s left in stunned silence, staring at his father and trying to digest everything that he’s just been told. It weighs heavy on him, trying to fit the pieces together, and even when he tries to speak, there’s a lump in his throat, something he struggles to swallow around.

He might not understand much about his father’s past, but something about this story rings too familiar to ignore. Something about the look on his father’s face- still actively avoiding Atreus, distant and melancholy and with a deeper frown than usual- makes Atreus want to ask. To pry further and further until he finally  _ understands. _

“Well, then.” Mimir breaks the silence, and Atreus looks down at him, something tight in his chest. “Seems like there’s a storyteller in you, yet.”

Father grunts, and just like that, the subject is dismissed without another word. The rest of the boat ride is quiet, and before long, they reach the shore, and it’s off to their little quest, the lonely bear left on the water behind them as all of their stories are.

Atreus isn’t quite ready to let it go, but he stows his questions away for later. Maybe, one day, his father will be ready to answer them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! <3


End file.
